


Field Surgery

by mandiholl



Series: Lyrium and Silk [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandiholl/pseuds/mandiholl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moira Hawke and the gang stumble into an ambush while wandering Darktown. What does a mage do when their mana's drained and one of their friends is hit?</p><p>During that three year period after Fenris "leaves" the relationship. Things are a little awkward, but they're trying to at least stay friendly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field Surgery

It had all started as a normal day. Just another job in Darktown, tracking down some missing blighter when they'd stumbled upon the Tevinters. Moira hadn't equipped them for as large a skirmish, and it wasn't long before they started to tire.

It seemed like they might just make it out by the skin of their teeth when she saw Fenris take the arrow right in the chest, just below his breastplate. Shit, it looked bad, and she was exhausted. She wouldn't be able to heal him; not the easy way at least.

Thank goodness Varric and Aveline were on the same wavelength. Instantly, they pressed an aggressive attack, drawing the slavers after them and giving her the opportunity to grab Fenris and guide him around the corner where they could very quickly be lost.

A quick sprint and a few turns down the alleyways later and already they could hear the shouts and heavy footsteps fade into the quiet din of Darktown at dusk. Once she was sure they weren't being followed, she pulled the elf into a nearby empty shack, only allowing herself to catch her breath when the door was closed and blocked and the window shuttered.

“ _Maker_ , that was close...” she huffed, glancing up from her hunched over position to grant the former slave a relieved smile.

However, Fenris was in no condition to respond. Clinging to the shaft embedded in his chest as he struggled to remain standing, she could hear him wheezing and laboring for breath as his legs finally gave out beneath him. She managed to catch him before he fell onto the arrow, further impaling himself, but the ashen pallor of his skin sealed her panic. He was _dying_.

 _Damn_ it, _why_ hadn't she taken the extra few seconds to bring her sodding lyrium with her?

No no no, she couldn't panic now. Her father hadn't taught her all that herbalism for nothing!

Delicately laying the elf down on his back, she wasted no time in emptying her hip pouch and frantically taking stock of what she had on hand. “Void, you couldn't have gotten a bigger breastplate, could you?” she said in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood as she unbuckled the offending armor piece and cast it aside. Her first thought was to simply remove the arrow and pile as much of her most potent health poultice on the wound, but that couldn't be all that needed doing. He wouldn't be this bad if the arrow hadn't punctured something.

As if on cue, Fenris lurched and sputtered, gouts of blood slipping past his lips.

Shit, bleeding into the lung, of course. Oh Maker, did she have a hollow reed? Yes! Thank Andraste! Finding her dagger, she ripped open the side seam of the former slave's jerkin—she rather liked his clothes, and didn't want to damage them if she could help it. Besides, it was all he ever wore. Living in that abandoned mansion, he probably didn't have anything else to wear! Tracing a line down his side from his armpit until she was parallel his nipple, she aggressively rubbed at the side of the elf's ribs with a fresh spindleweed leaf. That would numb the skin a _bit_ , but she had a feeling Fenris was in enough pain for another little cut to be ignored rather easily. She pinned his right arm with her knee and then, after a moment to gather her nerves so her hands would be steady and a murmured, “This is going to hurt a bit,” to the man, though he didn't seem to hear her, cut a small line between the elf's ribs.

Fenris gave a weak groan, struggling for a moment to lift his arm and push the knife away, but she was able to easily deflect his attempts. Yet another symptom that worried her—normally he had the strength to easily lift his greatsword with one hand and heft her over his shoulder with the other.

As she expected, more blood than would usually issue from a superficial wound like this came dripping from the cut. Sliding the knife away, she switched it for the reed and, after another moment to steel herself, gently slid it into the incision. After a few long moments Fenris's breathing seemed to ease, and now that he wasn't drowning in his own blood, Moira's frazzled mind could finally take a moment to calm and restock.

All she had left to do was remove the arrow, but would the arrowhead allow her to pull it out, or would she have to push it through? She vaguely remembered being grazed by one on the arm, and if she had her encounters right, the Tevinters didn't use broadhead arrows, lest they more seriously wound someone they wanted to sell; a gentle wiggle of the arrow confirmed it. Removing the lids from the three poultices she had left, she sniffed for the freshest, most powerful one and set it beside her. Once she removed the arrow, she'd have to be quick to coat and bandage it to prevent further bleeding. With the poultice and injury kit at the ready, she quickly scanned Fenris's face to ensure he was stable enough for her to continue. She then put her arm across his upper chest, bearing most of her weight on it, and gently took a hold of the arrow shaft. “Sorry about this,” she mumbled, and then with a quick, hard tug, yanked the arrow from his chest.

The elf lurched with a ragged cry, back arching off the dirt floor as Moira fought to keep him from thrashing. The moment he fell back onto the ground she yanked his shirt open, revealing the small but bloody wound. She took a large handful of the poultice and slapped it down onto the former slave's chest, sacrificing gentleness for speed and volume; the more of the herb mixture she applied, the sooner the bleeding would stop. Making sure to leave a bit for when she removed the drainage tube from his side, she fetched a soft bandage pad from the injury kit and secured it with a few cloth bandages; just enough to keep it still—she'd wrap it really tight when his side was similarly treated.

It was done. Thank the Maker he was still breathing. Sitting back with a heavy sigh, she desperately wanted to lie down next to him and rest her eyes, but she refused to completely relax until he was no longer bleeding from his lung. Lucky for her it didn't take too long for the poultice to start working, and soon the puddle at her knees where the reed rested stopped growing. Gently removing the tube and similarly treating and bandaging the elf's side, she made sure his chest was tightly wrapped before allowing herself to take her eyes off him.

 _Maker, thank you for not taking him from me,_ she thought gratefully. _I don't know what I'd do if I lost another..._ All energy gone from her body, she wondered how she had managed to go so long when she had already been exhausted as they fled the fight. She barely had the energy to return everything that hadn't been used to her pack, tucking it under Fenris's head, before she curled up beside him and let the sound of his breathing lull her to sleep, unconsciously clutching the pendant he'd given her when they had been courting all those years ago.

When she awoke, the sun was just beginning to rise. Darktown's beggars were just beginning to ply their trade whereas the coterie barkers were wrapping up the night, and in the space on the floor where Fenris had been there was a crackling fire. Sitting up in curiosity and a hint of anxiety, her fear was quickly abated when she saw him standing next to the single window, peering outside from behind the tattered shade.

“I take it you're feeling better?” she asked, her voice unsurprisingly ragged from a poor night's sleep.

“A little sore, but yes,” the elf replied with a slight nod. His eyes as he looked down on her were sheepish but warm—almost as warm as they had been that night... “I suppose it would not be an understatement to say I owe you my life.”

“For the second time,” she added with a small laugh. To imagine what would've happened to him had he gone into Danarius's mansion on his own so long ago.

“Hm, indeed,” he replied, lips quirking in a rare smile.

Breaking eye contact to stretch stiffly, she slowly and wearily stood and joined him by the window. “Think it's safe? You feeling well enough to risk a venture back to Hightown?”

“In a moment the City Guard will be making their rounds—that would be the safest time to move.”

“I can always count on you to smell out trouble, can't I?” she said with a small smile, cheeks flushing at what an honest and vulnerable statement that had been. She hadn't expressed that much trust in him since... though of course she _did still_ trust him with her life, it was simply hard to express it without reopening that old wound.

She thought she caught a quick glimmer of regret in the elf's eyes, but it was quickly concealed behind his thick lashes as he glanced to the floor. But then his gaze returned to her, and there was an open fondness in them that she had not seen in a very long time. “As certain as my every breath is thanks to you, I _will_ protect you, Hawke.”

At that moment she was glad she could hear the distinctive, heavy footsteps of the City Guard, for otherwise she was certain she was going to cry. “There they are. Shall we go?”

Nodding, Fenris tilted his head toward their belongings, and once the small fire was stomped out and their gear reclaimed, they slipped out, walking side-by-side as they had not for years.


End file.
